Eventually
by ShadowKitty15
Summary: Written for NavyDream. Mrs. Hudson knows Sherlock better than they both let on and with her, he lets his walls come down and only when they are alone and only after a fiery sulk. She knows his mood has to do with John... it always had to do with John. So why won't he just stop being stubborn and admit his feelings for the doctor? The answer is as obvious as his love.


**Author's Note: Navydream put out a prompt on Tumblr... calling for the use of the line, "It's so overt, it's covert." ... it referring to Sherlock's love for John. This is my attempt... I am out of practice writing so it may be a bit... rusty. This is unbeta'd and as of right now, a one-shot but I may continue it. I hope you like it, Navy! ;) I tried my best! And I do not own Sherlock or it's characters, just so we are clear.**

_**Eventually **_

There were very few things in the whole of London that could bring Sherlock Holmes to his knees… He had slept in the merciless cold London air when he had been in Uni… too tired from the Morphine coursing through his veins to bother to drag himself to whatever flat he was inhabiting then. Most flat owners kept him for short periods- unable to handle his screeching violin at the odd hours of the night (he only played well when he was in high spirits and he rarely was), the unpleasant smells from his experiments and the like… but that had been before John. Now, the man would compose music- soft melodies that drifted softly through 221B or that crescendoed violently with his irritation but the horrible grating wail had been absent since the army doctor had been introduced into his life. The kind landlady of both boys wondered if the detective even noticed that his violin hadn't been in need of strings for a while… but now…

Martha Hudson winced at the horrible protesting scream of strings from the flat above and sighed deeply, pouring the steaming water into a pot and adding tea bags to steep. Sherlock was in a foul mood… had been since John had left to meet the blonde-haired nurse he had been fawning over for the last three weeks… The old landlady shook her head. That boy was either heavily in denial…or horribly blind because everyone could see that Sherlock adored the older doctor.

Grabbing the tea cups, Mrs. Hudson ascended the stairs, wincing as the volume of the screeches grew louder and shriller as she got closer to her boys' flat. She didn't have any doubt that the tall, lanky brunette had heard her approach and it was confirmed by the hostile, "Not _now, _Mrs. .Hudson! I'm busy!"

She rolled her eyes at the irritable baritone and stepped into the living room, sighing to herself as she took in the array of papers that littered the floor… various case notes in the looping scrawl of Sherlock's elegant handwriting and yellowed pages of composition paper with various cords and measures scratched out in dark, rough gashes. She hadn't seen that since… a frowned tugged at the corner of her lips as she remembered a younger Sherlock… still tall and thin but with bones jutting out at unnaturally sharp angles and purple bruises under pale eyes as he huddled underneath her worn knitted lavender quilt, shivering. It had been a while since that night… "It will only be a night, Mrs. Hudson. I will be gone before you rouse." Sherlock's lips had been cracked and his hair lacked its luster that came from his meticulous hygiene.

She hadn't even noticed that she had flinched until her childish son (because really that was what he was- Martha would never feel as fiercely protective or responsible for another person as she did with Sherlock and she knew that he cared for her) lowered the polished violin from its resting place on his shoulder, huffing. He placed the violin on his desk before storming to his arm chair and throwing himself into it. The silk dressing robe opened to reveal his plain white t-shirt and striped pajamas. Raising a wrinkled hand to her lips to hide her amused snicker, Mrs. Hudson picked up the porcelain kettle and poured Sherlock a cuppa, making sure to add milk but no sugar, just how he preferred and handed it over.

Sherlock took it from her hand and eyed it in distaste but took a generous mouthful and swallowed it hastily before sipping the tea. It was as close to an apology for scaring her as he would attempt. She smiled fondly at the man, knowing that he knew about her husband's more…unsavory traits. When they had met, he had pointed out that her aching hip wasn't from her old dancing days but from the bone being wrenched of its socket by a fall… a bad one at that with too much momentum for it to be an accident. The feisty woman had merely raised an eyebrow at his deduction and sighed, "Yes, well… I'm afraid that I attract trouble." Martha had never thought to ridicule the arrogant young man to get him to quit snooping into her husband's affairs but his expression… those pale eyes had grown wide and a sorrow had flitted across them before he had asked the first question of many that day, "So, your husband… does he drink plenty?"

She was shaken from her revelry by Sherlock's angered growl and she snapped back into the present: he had placed the cuppa on the low table and was gripping the curls on the side of his head with a white-knuckled grip. She knew that it had to do with John… whenever Sherlock was like this- trembling with restless energy, eyes wild with barely contained rage and the desire to be on the move, and the imperceptible shaking of moving lips- it always had to do with the blonde but she had never observed the syllables Sherlock's lips were forming. She watched them now and he was muttering, "Control…control…" _Jealousy does not become you, dear. You love him so why not tell him? _The furious, "It is not your concern!" had her eyes narrowing but the detective was not focused on her, instead viciously waving his hand as if scrubbing away something from an imaginary board. _I can't let this go on… he is hurting and so clearly jealous. _

Smoothing her hands down her black skirt, Mrs. Hudson steeled her spine and opened her mouth…

"Don't."

"Sherlock…"

"I said don't."

"Now, dear…" Martha sighed at Sherlock's pursed lips and flashing eyes. He may have been good at hiding from John but she had known Sherlock since… a brief flash of cool eyes… grey steel. Since her husband's case…

Martha pushed away the thought as she leaned onto the absent doctor's arm chair. She knew Sherlock better than they let on… she didn't want to interfere with his choices or what he felt needed to be done but… this was an exception. He was too set in his ways to realize he was wrong and even if he had, he was too stupid to admit that maybe he had chosen the wrong path… the poor bloke was horribly lost and she needed to set him right.

"Sherlock…" Mrs. Hudson began again, watching the slight twitch that travelled through pale, slender fingers. "You need to tell John that you are smitten with him."

Sherlock's lips twitched in response and his shoulders slumped and rose in defense. He knew that she knew but the detective was desperate to keep the tight control over his emotions that had seemed to be wavering as of late… he could almost see John… with his gaze softening as he leaned forward to kiss that blonde's soft, red lips covered in pale lipstick and their tongues tangling. Mrs. Hudson watched the pained grimace twist the stoic features in an unguarded display before the tall sleuth jumped from his perch. She reached out and placed her hand down softly on a pale forearm, her eyes relaxing at the corners as the tight muscles loosened a fraction and Sherlock turned to her with pale blue eyes.

"You love him." It wasn't a question but she watched as her boy's mouth tightened before the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed as he looked at her with the same gaze he gave her when he had given up the needle for the final time. This was Sherlock letting her in, always when they were alone, and always after a got fiery sulk but it was him, muddled with emotions and needing guidance when he didn't understand or couldn't control it… he had to learn that emotions were undeniably messy and chaotic. He had gotten better but he still wasn't where they were.

"Of course." The answer was soft and unsure. Sherlock went to pull away but she followed his step back and rose sharp, intelligent green-brown eyes to pin him under her gaze. She may have been timid but she could hold her ground when she needed to. "Then why not tell him? Everyone knows."

"But him." Sherlock sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Everyone knows but him… and that's how it should stay. I have acted as such to keep him from suspecting and tried to keep my own… _sentiment _from coloring my actions to the point where he does notice."

"You…you been…making it obvious?" This was a shock to her. She had always assumed that the self-proclaimed sociopath had been unaware of his actions. The affection was evident but Sherlock had never taken to someone so quickly… he had only been attached to…

Mrs. Hudson gasped as she realized. Victor… Sherlock had been like that towards Victor but it had been after many, many months of cold treatment… avoidance, insults directed to wound, and on a single occasion a row (a very short one) but after the detective had been softened and devoted to the slightly younger boy and began to speak much more cautiously and eventually… he had become affectionate but Victor had been…

"He had been kidnapped and held for ransom. I…I refused to acknowledge our connection and he…" Sherlock trailed off and she saw the glossiness of his eyes.

"Oh, Sherlock…" He had been obvious to protect John… she had just saw John's loyalty but not Sherlock's. He was right- they were stupid and blind. "Why?"

"It's so overt, it's covert. John mistakes it for my acceptance of him as my friend. Love is easily mistaken for friendship when you can't pin your friend's desires… I may not be entirely aware of my own emotions but I _see _them. I can deduce it… I just never…" Bony shoulders were shaking violently and Mrs. Hudson was horrified to see a single tear slip down a pale cheek. "I can manipulate and act but I hadn't counted on the force of my own. John… John is…" Sherlock went silent and lowered his head and Mrs. Hudson wrapped her arms around his waist impulsively and felt him jolt in response before burying his face in her shoulder.

"I loved Victor but never as much as this. This…this is so much _more."_ Martha's eyes welled with her own tears at the wavering inflection to the deep voice and she squeezed her boy tighter and swiped her hand down his back. Oh, Sherlock… her poor boy…

"Sherlock…" She began but the second the spine under her hand went rigid, she dropped her hold and watched him step away quickly to pace to the window to pick up his instrument as John opened the door. His face was carefully composed and she could see the red mark above the collar of his button up, frowning. She felt the anger simmering in her veins- at both of them- but she knew that they would have to come to each other on their own time.

John's eyes met hers and she could see the confusion and questions in them. _Did I hear that right? Did he really… am I that idiotic? Please tell me, I'm wrong because he can't possibly…_

Martha let out a soft whoosh of breath before speaking, "I'll be downstairs, making some scones. Sherlock do try and keep the caterwauling down a tad, dear." Before she patted John's arms with a tight smile. "I hope you had a lovely date, John. Although I'm surprised to see you with a woman…" She knew his protestations but no matter what he believed… he was Sherlock's and she would let him tell the detective that he knew. Sherlock often forgot his surroundings in his mind palace and he had been rolling with the waves of his emotions- tossed head over feet, feet over head- and hadn't caught onto the uneven gait of the soldier until he made his entrance… but Mrs. Hudson knew John had been standing there, listening.

She wouldn't push them… sometimes like a comet circling the Earth for many years, even decades… drawing nearer and nearer with each pass, sometimes you had to wait for two stubborn people to twirl around the proverbial elephant in the room until someone trips and crashes into the other and the elephant raises its might trunk with a mighty shout. Sometimes…

Mrs. Hudson turned listening to John splutter at her words and she glided to the door as Sherlock's bow slid along the violin's chords hastily. She was descending the stairs when John's voice rang through,

"Sherlock! You prat! She said be quiet!"

Sometimes you had to wait and watch the dance get better and better until the daring leap came. When it came… Martha sighed and turned to gaze fondly up the stairs at the closed flat door as Sherlock responded,

"I am aware, John. I see that your newest paramour fell asleep during your movie..."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled in her chest. Off as always… well, she could wait. The question was: how long would it take? She wanted to see them together before she passed… Shaking her head, Mrs. Hudson continued down the stairs.

She wouldn't worry… she had some scones to make.


End file.
